


Firebrand

by Shapooda



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espada, Evil Soul Society, Gen, Hueco Mundo, Kurosaki Ichigo-centric, Psychological Drama, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/pseuds/Shapooda
Summary: What if the visored never reached out to Ichigo to help him tame his inner hollow? What if Aizen expressed more interest in Ichigo from the beginning? Canon rewrite / Espada Ichigo





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, obviously. This story is for funsies, not for monetary gain._

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

The things his hollow whispered to him,  _ shouted _ at him, were increasingly difficult to smother. School was only so distracting before it stopped being a distraction and started to showcase his problems. People started to notice how his mind wandered, how he could barely focus in class. It wasn’t so long before he couldn’t even defeat a hollow without his inner hollow scratching at his mind for control. 

 

His hollow howled for blood and death and violence, and Ichigo dug in his heels and refused. 

 

His hollow dug in his teeth and  _ insisted _ .

 

Inch by agonizing inch, his hollow was winning. Ichigo was afraid of what that meant for him,  _ his life _ . His sisters knew something was wrong, but they didn’t know what it was, or how to fix it. His family never was very good at facing their problems, they simply sunk deeper into their personally assigned roles and hoped it would go away.

 

He felt their eyes sear into his back when he turned in early, when he left in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye. 

 

He was running out of time.

 

With every day that passed, he grew more and more distant with his friends, his family. When it started, it was only in his spirit form. Then the cackling and the taunts haunted his mind in his human body. It got worse, extending into a numbness in his fingers that he couldn’t pretend didn’t exist. Feeling his control leave him, even while he was in his human body, solidified his fear, and his resolve. 

 

He threw loaded questions at Kisuke, subtly seeking help, and the man just didn’t know. 

 

So Ichigo ran. It was a half-assed, poorly planned attempt. He ended up in the warehouse district, the air thick and muggy with the promise of rain. A cold, clammy breeze rushed straight through his shirt, his jeans, and dragged a ragged shiver through his shoulders. He had no plan, no last hope, all he knew was that he couldn’t put his family at risk.

 

_ Whispers. Taunts.  _ Why wouldn’t he just  _ stop _ ?

 

Ichigo let his back hit the wall with a metallic thrum. The corrugated ridges of the sheet metal dug into his shoulder blades, cold and piercing. 

 

**_“You like the rush, I know you do.”_ **

 

Sliding to a crouch, Ichigo wrapped his head in his arms. He hissed, “ _ Shut up. _ ”

 

**_“Can’t smother yer own instincts.”_ **

 

He heard the quiet patter of raindrops, then the hiss of gently falling rain. He sucked in a sharp breath, his lungs filling with the acrid scent of wet concrete and rusty metal. He never liked the rain.

 

**_“You can’t deny me. I_ ** **am** **_you.”_ **

 

“I don’t understand what Aizen sees in you.”

 

Ichigo’s head jerked up, eyes wide. He was distracted by his own thoughts, his own heart, he hadn’t even felt the arrancar approach. The arrancar was so quiet, physically and spiritually. 

 

This was the same arrancar that tried to kill Tatsuki.  _ Dangerous _ . 

 

Ichigo fumbled for Kon’s soul pill, but his fingers were clumsy with the cold, and he was far too slow in a human body. Ulquiorra slammed him flat against the wall by his throat. Ichigo hacked a cough, hand tightening around the arrancar’s wrist. Blunt nails dug into his neck, in the sensitive flesh below his jaw.

 

His heart raced in fear, but he didn’t let it show on his face. He squeezed his hand tighter, the simmer of rage coiling in his stomach. Ulquiorra’s eyes flicked between his left, then his right eye, studying him like he might a particularly pretty bug before he crushed it. “Fascinating, although your reiatsu output is hardly reliable enough to be of much worth.”

 

Ulquiorra slowly uncurled his hand from his throat, raising his arm to open a garganta. “You will come with me, Kurosaki. Should you fail to comply…” He paused, his hand twitching, and two smaller garganta’s opened, one on Yuzu, and the other on Karin. 

 

Yuzu was cleaning dishes, and Karin was doing homework, both blissfully unaware.

 

Ichigo’s heart sank, his eyes wide in panic. “Leave them alone.”

 

“That can be arranged,” Ulquiorra said, “So long as you come with me without resistance.” 

 

If his family would be safe, he would do anything. He asked, “What do you want?”

 

Ulquiorra’s eyes narrowed. “Aizen wishes to speak with you.”

 

“About what?” Ichigo asked.

 

“To what end, I do not know.” He turned toward the garganta, gesturing towards it. “After you.”

 

Fear clenched his guts and send his heart into a frantic tempo. Aizen betrayed Soul Society. He sent his arrancar here to attack his town, hurt his friends…

 

Go to Aizen...could he do that?

 

Reaching into his pocket with trembling hands, Ichigo removed the mod soul from his jeans pocket slowly, like he was drawing a weapon. Ulquiorra watched impassively, but didn’t stop him. Ichigo swallowed it. 

 

Ichigo was kicked from his body, his hollow screeching at the sudden freedom. Ichigo doubled over, a hand fisted in his hair.

 

“Interesting,” Ulquiorra said.

 

Ichigo reached for Zangetsu, but his muscles locked up as his hollow sank its control into him. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, and his right arm was numb, trembling. That action was followed swiftly by the crushing weight of Ulquiorra’s reiatsu.

 

Ulquiorra didn’t even move, speaking softly. “What a short memory. Have you already forgotten?”

 

Yuzu...Karin. Slowly lowering his hand, his hollow railed against his thoughts and will in protest. 

 

_ ‘Shut up!’ _

 

Ulquiorra let up on his reiatsu, letting Ichigo stand straight.

 

“Ichigo?” ventured Kon.

 

Ichigo’s voice sounded rougher than he intended. “Go home, Kon.”

 

“What do you-you can’t mean for me to  _ leave _ you here? Ichigo-”

 

“Kon,  _ go _ ! Aren’t you supposed to keep my body safe?” He added weakly, “And you made me a promise.” To protect his sisters, his friends. Kon talked a lot of shit, but he meant it when he made a promise. 

 

“Ichi-”

 

“What did I say!?” he roared, “GO!” He shoved his body out into the rain, watching a ghost of himself stare back at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He looked so...tired, gaunt. Ichigo’s voice collapsed in on itself, nearly a whisper. “Go…”

 

Kon glanced to Ulquiorra and back, steeled his jaw, then ran into the rain, straight towards home. No doubt to try to save him, to bed for help when Kon knew it was already too late. His father would understand...his sisters wouldn’t. 

 

He swallowed, then stepped into the garganta, the scar in reality drawing in the mist from the rain. The further inside he walked, the colder and calmer it became. 

 

Ulquiorra followed behind him, studying him with a dark, unblinking stare. It was eerie, but the arrancar wouldn’t let him follow from behind, and so Ichigo had to live with his eyes boring into his back. 

 

They exited the garganta into a massive hallway of pure, unbroken white stone, built like it was intended for giants. It reminded him of Soul Society in a way, without all the fluff and golden rooftops. It was brutalist and cold, but also...elegant, in its own right. Ulquiorra looked pointedly down the hallway. 

 

Ichigo compiled, hoping with all his heart that this wasn’t a mistake. He could barely fight at all with his hollow clawing for control, and Ulquiorra suggested this was just a conversation. If it would save his sisters, he could do that much.

 

His hollow’s voice had grown in volume, his whispers raking over his mind and stealing his attention.

 

_ ‘Back off.’ _

 

Ulquiorra led him through a massive doorway into a long, tall-ceilinged room. Ichigo’s attention was immediately stolen by the man sitting confidently in the throne at the back of the room. 

 

_ Aizen Sousuke. _

 

Shinigami, ex-captain of the Gotei 13, traitor, genius, and rebel.

 

The shinigami’s voice dripped like honey, sweetly saccharine and full of lies.

 

“I’m so pleased you could join us, Kurosaki-san.”

 

 

\---xxx---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what if SS was the bad guys, how would that go? Eh? Interested? Let me know if you wanna see more, guys, it’s an idea I’ve been kicking about for awhile. I have Zenith where he’s already grown into his powers, but what about an alt to canon with a focus on his hollow side as he matures? I’m biased, hollows are dope.


	2. Blackout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is short so I can give you a thing before my birthday. I like ya’ll so much I didn’t make you wait until Monday for the thing.
> 
> Ganbarimasu!

 

 

\---xxx---

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

_ “I’m so pleased you could join us, Kurosaki-san.” _

“I’m not,” Ichigo said. He thought he did a decent job keeping his voice level, especially with the sudden shove of his hollow up against the back of his thoughts. It made his teeth itch and his muscles tight with the urge to fight. “What do you want?”

Aizen leaned on his hand, that arrogant smirk widening into a knowing look. It pissed Ichigo off that Aizen thought he knew him, had him figured out. Maybe he did, but the smug bastard didn’t have to flaunt it.

Aizen said, “To talk, ryoka boy. But first...” His eyes slipped to Gin, and the fox sauntered up to him, always grinning. What he wouldn’t give to wipe that grin off his face. He shuddered at the force of that drive, the sudden urge to not just fantasize about curb stomping him, but following through with it. It hit him with a force he wasn’t prepared for.

Gin whistled. “That’s a scary look. Hold that thought.” 

Ichigo thought that was a strange thing to say, scowling at the hand Gin held out to him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, so he just stared at him. Gin sighed and gestured just a little harder. “Hand it over, kid.”

“Hand over what?” Ichigo asked, feeling a bit lost, and wondering if that was his intention, or if he was just that stupid.

Gin made a disappointed sound and explained, “The badge.”

Badge...His substitute badge? He hesitated, then took the small amulet from his pocket, running his fingers over well worn wood with a contemplative frown. His eyes flicked back up to Gin’s and he asked, “Why?”

Aizen answered instead, an edge of condescension in his tone, as if he were explaining something simple to a child. “Because, ryoka boy, I asked you here to speak with  _ you _ , not the Gotei 13.”

Ichigo blinked, then stared down at the badge. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what that meant. They were spying on him? He tried to reason it away, but no matter how he sliced it, it still stung. His feelings about Rukia remained the same, but a sudden paranoia blanketed his memories of the rest of the Gotei 13. Renji was Rukia’s childhood friend, he thought he could trust him, but did they know? 

Eyes turning back to Aizen, that smug smirk on his face made Ichigo think that was intentional on the shinigami’s part. What was he supposed to do, refuse to hand it over? Then he’d be faced with the humiliating reality of having it taken from him, and if Soul Society was using it to spy on him, did he even want it? Tricky bastard.

Hesitant, Ichigo handed the badge over to Gin. The shinigami gingerly took in from him, careful not to touch him, and destroyed it, turning it to ash with a well placed burst of reiatsu. 

Ichigo clenched his jaw, feeling like the destruction of that badge had severed whatever ties he'd held with Soul Society, no matter how weak. It was a bit frightening to have something he'd come to expect and rely on be taken from him, just like that. 

“Now that we have some well-deserved privacy,” Aizen said, “Soul Society is aware of what you are. You let the reigns slip in a fight with one of their most loyal captains. Don’t tell me you didn’t think there would be consequences?”

Byakuya. Losing control was...frightening, it’s what started all of this.

**_“That fight was mine. MINE!”_ **

Ichigo resisted the urge to reach for his head, shouting back.  _ ‘SHUT UP!’ _

No one had brought it up, Soul Society on a whole just acted as if it never happened, and Ichigo tried not to put too much thought into  _ why _ . He decided to play stupid, even if he didn't see an outcome where Aizen knew less than he did. Maybe Aizen give him too much credit and spill something he didn't know? Ichigo could only hope. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't you?” Aizen purred his words, playing along with his like. “You don't wonder why your reiatsu is unreliable? Why you can't finish a fight without freezing up?” 

Ichigo felt his heart start to race and he lied. “No, I don't.”

It was clear Aizen knew he was lying, but rather than call his bluff, his eyes shifted to Gin. “If you would.”

Gin reached for his Zanpakuto and Ichigo skipped back, reaching back to draw his own. Gin moved slower than he was capable of, Ichigo saw the ex-captain allow enough time for him to draw his own sword from his back. He was aiming to kill, but he was holding back. Their swords clashed, and Gin started to pressure him, swinging faster than Ichigo could block or dodge, not when his mind was divided, when his body was sluggish, his hollow fighting him for control. 

Ichigo felt a wash of shame; this shouldn’t be so difficult, the shinigami wasn’t even in shikai.

**_“So let_ ** **me** **_, let me fight!”_ **

His hollow shoved and he froze up, hands tightening on his sword. Nonono.

Ichigo saw Gin move, but he acted too slowly, and he felt Gin’s sword touch his throat. The shinigami let out a sound of disgust. “Tsk, you let it get this bad?”

Ichigo spurred himself to action, throwing Zangetsu out in a backhand swing. Gin casually blocked it, then rushed in again, punishing him for he slowness. Gin’s sword cut into his upper arm to the bone, wringing a growl of pain out of him, and a flash of anger. 

**_“LET ME OUT! YOU’RE LOSING!”_ **

_ ‘No!’ _

Ichigo lost the sight in his right eye and Gin took advantage, assaulting him from his blind side. The shinigami’s wakizashi landed shallow cute, but there were many, and each was laced with the sting of reiatsu. Gin cut his chest, then his side, not allowing him a second to orient himself. Ichigo’s back struck a wall, finally out of room to run, and his vision went dark. 

He felt his own reiatsu surge, the sudden ecstasy of freedom, of reveling in his own power, and he was suddenly conscious again. He stared down at Gin, realizing his hands were around Gin’s throat, loose enough Gin could breath, but clearly that was a recent development. The bastard was still smiling, watching him curiously through slitted eyes. 

Ichigo swallowed, and he felt the cool tip of a blade at the hollow of his own throat. Without moving too quickly, Ichigo looked back, catching sight of Tousen in his peripheral.

He couldn't read the blind shinigami at all, but that had little to do with the fact that he couldn’t see his eyes. It was clear if Aizen wanted him dead, he would be. 

Ichigo uncurled his hands from Gin’s throat, taking a small step backwards, and Tousen sheathed his sword, standing like a silent sentinel behind him. He felt empty handed, conspicuously tightening his hands around nothing. He looked back, realizing he’d dropped Zangetsu, or rather, his hollow hadn’t needed it.

Staring at his abandoned sword, Ichigo felt dread settle in his guts. He thought using Zangetsu made it worse, but he hadn’t even been holding it.

“Shall we continue?” Aizen asked. Ichigo ground his teeth together at the condescension in his voice. He’d gotten his ass handed to him, and proven Aizen’s point ten times over.

Turning to face him, Ichigo blocked out the sting of the cuts Gin had left him and asked, “What do you want?”

Aizen’s smile widened a fraction, and it was clear he’d been waiting for that question from the beginning. The shinigami answered smoothly, “To help you, ryoka boy.”

Ichigo snorted, not believing him for a second. Aizen’s eyes glittered in amusement. “I don’t believe I saw Soul Society extend a hand, but perhaps I’m wrong?”

It both hurt and annoyed him that the man was right, Soul Society knew, and they did nothing. If they really were spying on him, then they probably knew more than most, and he hadn’t heard so much as a whisper. 

Ichigo could tell Aizen to fuck off, but the fact remained that he did need help. Sooner rather than later, his hollow was going to take control, and ignoring the problem wasn’t working. He asked, “Why would you do that?”

Aizen stood, and just like that moment on Sokyoku Hill, Aizen disappeared from his sight, reappearing only a foot away. Ichigo swayed back on his heels and tried not to let it show, but Aizen was  _ frightening _ . The shinigami was strong, and the man was quietly reminding him that he was wildly outmatched.

Taking a step closer into his personal space, Ichigo noticed Aizen was taller. He tried not to let it intimidate him, but swordless, bleeding, and in enemy territory, he thought he was failing. Aizen said, “I don’t suppose you would believe me if I told you it was out of the goodness of my heart.”

Ichigo tightened his jaw. “No, I don’t think I would.”

Without taking his eyes from Ichigo’s, Aizen said, “Gin, if you would bring the boy his sword.”

Ichigo tried not to grimace at the tone he used, as if he was a child that had misplaced a toy. Damn this man. 

Aizen waited until Gin handed him his sword, the man seemingly not put out by being reduced to fetch. Aizen waited until the sword was replaced on his back before he continued, “You aren’t weak, boy, but you aren’t strong either. What you have is potential. You can’t grow into it if your hollow consumes you.”

Ichigo settled on a new question. “What’s the catch?”

Aizen’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “So young, yet so jaded.” He inclined his head and said, “For the foreseeable future, you are my guest. Welcome to Las Noches.”

A chill settled in Ichigo’s blood. So he was stuck here, Aizen’s prisoner until further notice, or until...he tried not to think about dying, it just wasn’t productive. “ _ Fine _ .”

Aizen watched him curiously and said, “Interesting.”

“What?” Ichigo snapped.

“I thought I might encounter more resistance,” Aizen’s shoulders twitched into a shrug. “You’ve surprised me.”

“You have something I want. I’m not done with you,” Ichigo snarled, feeling the grip of anger that was definitely his, but it was backed by something that was growing increasingly difficult to deny.

Chuckling, Aizen stepped forward, and Ichigo instinctively backed out of his way as the shinigami made to leave. “Gin will explain the rules I expect you to follow. Do be on your best behavior.”

That sounded like something of a threat. He sounded polite, but he hadn’t forgotten nearly being bisected on Sokyoku Hill. This man was deadly, and he was strong enough to pull one over on the entirety of the Gotei 13. 

Gin dropped a hand on his shoulder and Ichigo visibly stiffened, shrugging off his hand and backing away to keep the creep in his sight. Gin’s smirk widened, throwing up his hands defensively. “Aww, don’t be like that. We’re practically coworkers.”

Tousen left, and despite saying nothing, Ichigo felt the disapproval on the man. That was fine, he didn’t like any of these people. His eyes flicked back to Gin and he curled his lips back in disgust. “That’s too generous.”

Shrugging, Gin started for the hall, and Ichigo realized Aizen was gone. The shinigami said, “The main rules are: don’t leave Las Noches, don’t destroy Las Noches, and don’t kill anyone; easy.”

Ichigo had no real reason to be difficult, so he followed after him, asking, “That’s it?”

Gin looked back at him, clearly unconcerned with having him at his back. “This is the world of hollows, were you expecting an entire corpus of law?”

Ichigo frowned, feeling like he was being mocked again. “So I can go wherever I want?”

Gin turned again and gave him an undetermined gesture. “Within reason. You’re certainly welcome to try to go into Aizen-sama’s room, but I don’t recommend it.” That was definitely not where Ichigo wanted to go, he wanted to be as far away from there as physically feasible. Although, he wasn’t even sure someone like Aizen slept, seeing a bed might confirm he was actually alive. 

Gin continued, “There is one room you can’t go into, and you’ll know, because it’s locked.”

Knowing what he did about Aizen, and all the shit he’d gone through to take the Hogyoku from Rukia’s soul, it really only left one explanation. Ichigo frowned and asked, “The Hogyoku?”

Looking back, Gin smiled. “You  _ do _ pay attention.”

Ichigo changed the subject, not wanting to linger on condescension. “Where are you taking me?” 

“To your escort,” Gin answered cheerfully.

Ichigo felt again like a glorified prisoner, dully repeating, “Escort…”

“Hollows are opportunistic, violent creatures, and currently, Kurosaki-san,” Gin glanced back, “you are weak.”

Those words stabbed into his chest like a dagger, his hands tightening into fists. Gin was right, and hating him for it wouldn’t fix the problem. He had to fix himself, he had to get stronger. Only then could he focus on escape.

They didn’t have to walk far before Gin led him into a smaller room off from the hallway. Ichigo’s eyes widened in surprise. The Espada that very nearly killed Rukia and himself leaned casually against a wall, looking both irritated and deathly bored. Rukia almost ended up dead and he’d almost lost the use of his hand, that was a fight...if it could be called a fight, that he wasn’t ever going to forget.  _ Grimmjow _ .

The arrancar’s attitude changed when his eyes landed on Ichigo.

“I believe both of ya have met,” Gin said ruefully.

The blue haired arrancar pushed away from the wall, pinning Ichigo with a mocking smirk. “Getting your ass kicked by  _ everyone _ , aren’t you, Kurosaki?”

Grimmjow wasn’t wrong, and fuck him, he wanted to hurt him back, so Ichigo went for a low blow. “What happened to your arm?”

A bit of the joy was sucked out of Grimmjow, his expression growing to be just a touch more murderous. “Didn’t need it.”

_ Sure _ . Ichigo glared at Gin, and demanded, “You’ve got to be kidding me, why him?”

Ichigo’s irritation bounced right off the shinigami. “Grimmjow-san was just demoted.” That word seemed to piss off Grimmjow as much as the word ‘boy’ pissed off Ichigo. Gin shrugged, still eerily cheerful. “He also volunteered.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo snapped, “ _ To kill me _ .”

Grimmjow’s smirk was back, like it had never left. “Only need one arm to kill your scrawny ass, but I can’t do it if you eat shit and die before I get to.” 

It was the most caringly psycho thing Ichigo thought he’d ever heard directed at him, his expression torn between disbelief and resolve. If this asshole wanted to fight, he’d fight him all damn day.  _ After _ he took care of his hollow, if that was even possible. Aizen led him to believe that it was.

Gin spoke to Grimmjow as if he was reinforcing what was already said. “Aizen-sama wants him alive.”

“For now,” Grimmjow growled, sounding a bit too hopeful for Ichigo’s tastes.

“ _ Alive _ , Grimmjow-san.” Gin turned to go and waved goodbye. “You kids have fun.”

Ichigo wasn’t a coward, but he couldn’t say he was thrilled to be passed off from the hands of a creep into the hands of a psycho. 

Grimmjow’s smile widened with rolling laughter that didn’t sound entirely sane. “ _ Yeah _ , this is gonna be fun.”

\---xxx---

I wrote *gasp* GRIMMJOW. Raise your hand if you’re surprised. I’m not sorry.

No paaaiirrrings, as a reminder, just people kicking the ever loving fuck out of each other.

Alsssooo, we’ve all seen the show, and if you clicked on this fic, I’m sure you’ve seen his inner hollow fight a thousand times. Should I write it from an outsider's perspective to keep from blandly rehashing the show? (There was already some dialogue that I had to grab for this chapter and booooo I don’t like doing it) Let me know what ya’ll think, I don’t want to bore you (or myself lol)

\---xxx---

****  
  


**Rankings**

Aizen Sousuke

Kaname Tōsen & Gin Ichimaru

**Espada**

0:  Yammy Llargo

1:  Coyote Starrk & Lilynette Gingerbuck

2:  Baraggan Louisenbairn

3:  Tier Harribel (former: Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck)

4:  Ulquiorra Cifer

5:  Nnoitra Gilga

6:  Luppi Antenor

7:  Zommari Rureaux

8:  Szayelaporro Granz

9:  Aaroniero Arruruerie


	3. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following canon Ichigo’s battle with his inner hollow, he doesn’t really embrace those ideals and his hollow until Hueco Mundo, and it always felt like an Elsa Let it Go situation where he backtracks on his character moment. So what if that wasn’t the case?
> 
>  
> 
> Ganbarimasu!

\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Grimmjow grabbed Ichigo’s forearm in a steely grip, manhandling the shinigami into following after him. 

 

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Ichigo growled, “touch me.” He yanked on his arm, but damn him, Grimmjow’s grip was  _ strong _ , and his own reiatsu was too weak. 

 

It felt and probably looked absolutely ridiculous to be dragged down a hallway like a child, and Ichigo had had just about enough of that. He reached for Zangetsu, overkill or not, and swung at Grimmjow’s remaining arm. Fucker caught his sword in his bare hand, just like before.

 

Grimmjow’s expression was frozen between a sneer and a smirk. “Pathetic, Kurosaki.”

 

Grinding his teeth, Ichigo growled, “Let go.”

 

Surprise, the Espada...ex-Espada didn’t listen. Grimmjow pulled Ichigo closer. “Maybe I’ll just break this, since you’re not using it.”

 

Ichigo only glared at him, feeling more and more like a child. The arrancar looked between his eyes, then shoved his sword back and kept walking, dragging him like a fucking caveman down the hall. Ichigo barked, “I know how to  _ walk _ !”

 

Grimmjow tossed him forward, throwing Ichigo off balance. Catching himself on a foot before he fell on his face like a jackass, Ichigo whirled, leveling Zangetsu at him accusingly. “ _ Asshole _ ! What’s your deal?!”

 

The arrancar shoved his hand in his pocket and shrugged like he couldn’t help himself. “Just wondering how weak you were.” His eyes burned with sudden rage. “Pretty sad, Kurosaki.” 

 

Grimmjow’s tone dropped in challenge, teeth snapping like a chained dog. “What happened to all that fight?”

 

Ichigo deflected. “Were we going somewhere, or are we just going to chit chat?”

 

“What happened?” Grimmjow stressed.

 

“Why do you give a damn?” Ichigo asked.

 

“It would be easier to drown kittens the way you are now.”

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes and took an subconscious step back. His hollow started to rage at him. Fight, fight, fight, but then what? Then he lost everything. “Fuck off, Grimmjow.”

 

“ _ Spicy _ ,” Grimmjow snarled, “but where’s the  _ fight _ ?” His teeth gnashed on that word, making it a near tangible thing. Ichigo just glared back, so Grimmjow kept going. “It happened then too. Why did you stop?”

 

Why? Fear, panic, everything he hated. Ichigo narrowed his eyes, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached and replaced the sword on his back, uninterested in starting a fight. 

 

“ **_LIAR_ ** .”

 

His lack of response infuriated Grimmjow, the arrancar getting a good grip around his injured arm, squeezing the deep slash Gin had left through his bicep. “What are you so scared of?” Grimmjow demanded.

 

Grimmjow's fingers dug into Ichigo’s arm. Blood pooled on his sleeve and dripped from his fingertips. That fucking hurt. Ichigo took Grimmjow's wrist in his hand with a snarl of pain and rage, but he had just as much effect now as before. 

 

The arrancar shoved him back into the wall and shouted, “FIGHT!”

 

Ichigo matched his volume. “I have no reason to fight you!”

 

“You don't  _ need _ a reason!” Grimmjow tightened his grip, Ichigo's bones aching under the pressure of his fingers digging into his skin, grinding severed nerves against one another. 

 

Ichigo's blood was hot on his skin, dripping in a steady stream to patter on the floor. He fixed Grimmjow with a glare, frustrated that he wouldn’t back off. His hollow wouldn't shut up, he hadn’t since they’d gotten to Hueco Mundo, and his control was slipping so much faster than before. 

 

**_“The arrancar talks sense, you should fuckin’ listen.”_ **

 

Grimmjow studied him, eyes narrowing as his gaze settled on his left eye, the eye he was slowly losing sight in. The arrancar finally leaned back, pulling his palm away bloody. “The fuck are you, Kurosaki?”

 

“A substitute shinigami.” The answer was ritual, nearly automatic. 

 

Grimmjow scoffed. “Substitute? That ain't shinigami reiatsu.” He snarled the word like it was an insult, like every shinigami that lived had personally affronted him, and for all Ichigo knew, they had.

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure what to say, just saying the word ‘hollow’ carried with it a connotation that made him feel sick. “I'm not like you.” He wasn't sure if he said it to convince himself or Grimmjow.

 

The arrancar curled his lip in a derisive sneer. “Yeah, you’re not.” 

 

Ichigo curled his hands into fists, wondering why those words bothered him so much. Grimmjow hesitated, waiting to see if he really would fight, but the moment passed, and the arrancar’s expression fell into something like annoyance. 

 

Grimmjow grimaced down at the blood on his hand, at the puddle of blood at Ichigo’s feet, then started to walk away. Ichigo decided he could either stand there and be bait, or go after him, which was probably why Grimmjow didn’t bother to say anything. 

 

For some reason that pissed Ichigo off as much as his refusal to fight seemed to piss off Grimmjow. They walked in mutual silence for awhile, before Ichigo started to get restless. His arm was throbbing, and he wanted a distraction. Ichigo asked, “How fucking big is this place anyways?”

 

“Do I look like a tour guide to you?” Grimmjow grumbled.

 

Ichigo scowled at the back of his head, contemplating drawing Zangetsu again, but he wasn’t sure he could lose much more blood, he was still leaving a nasty trail of it down the hallway. A moment or so passed, and to his shock, the arrancar actually answered his question. “A few days walk from one end to the other.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes widened. “Wait,  _ days _ ?!”

 

“Did I stutter?” 

 

Ichigo looked up, and then back the way he came, the hallways stretching into the gloom with no end in sight, “What for?”

 

Grimmjow shot him a look like he was an idiot. “What do you mean, ‘what for?’ It’s a fortress, dumbass.”

 

Outside of his own personal hell, Ichigo had almost forgotten Aizen had an army. He didn’t know what the hell he needed it for, but he knew he had some sort of beef with Soul Society. He couldn’t sense much through the walls, it was hard to tell just who and what was in this place, or if it was just a bunch of walls and hallways, but he had a hard time pinpointing that shit in the first place. “Is he expecting an invasion? This seems excessive.”

 

“The fuck do I care?”

 

Ichigo tore his eyes from the wall and frowned at the back of Grimmjow’s head. It really sounded like he didn’t give a shit, and if that was the case, he couldn’t figure out why he would be in Aizen’s little army at all. “So what are you doing here?”

 

“I want to fight,” Grimmjow snorted. “It ain’t complicated.” 

 

No, it didn’t seem that it was. Ichigo’s eyes wandered to a scar on his lower back, just barely visible below the hem of his jacket, and he looked away, wondering again what happened to his arm. There wasn’t much to wonder about, there was literally nothing of interest on the walls, and he didn’t want to think about himself, his failures, or the taunting voice in his head. 

 

He was distracted enough that Grimmjow’s voice scared the shit out of him when he finally spoke again. “Oy,  _ jackass _ .” 

 

Ichigo flinched, looking into the room Grimmjow opened. He squeezed passed him, still very on edge around the arrancar. He had a thick, downright murderous aura that hung over him and reminded him a bit of Kenpachi. 

 

The best way he could describe the room would have been a locker room. Uniforms of all shape and size were in there, with half of it seemingly dedicated to showering, if he was understanding what he was looking at. 

 

When he made no move to do anything, Grimmjow growled, “You look like shit.” The arrancar shoved him forward with a solid hand between his shoulder blades. 

 

Ichigo caught himself with a swear, glaring at the arrancar as he moved around him to rinse off his hand. He watched him rinse off the blood, and when he still hadn’t moved, Grimmjow growled, “Clean yourself up, I ain’t gonna tell ya twice.”

 

Ichigo shot Grimmjow an acid filled look, then shrugged out of his kosode, wincing when tacky blood pulled at an already aggravated injury. Outside of adrenaline and fear and rage, it really fucking hurt. While the arrancar shook the water off his hand, he ditched his kosode on the ground and figured out how the water worked. It was too minimalist, he barely understood the function of anything short of the doors in this place; it made it feel weird and alien, and he was pretty sure he hated it.

 

The water was cold, surprise, and ducking under the water, he shuddered at the shock of it and the sting of water in places water wasn’t supposed to go. 

 

“Grinning bastard got you good.”

 

Ichigo twisted to glare back at where Grimmjow had perched on a ledge to watch. “ _ Yeah _ ? Why are you staring?”

 

Grimmjow looked just as annoyed as he had an hour ago. “What am I supposed to look at?” 

 

From the look on Grimmjow’s face, he wasn’t going to stop. The arrancar wasn’t leering so much as sizing him up and it was unsettling. It was like having a tiger at his back, and his guts seized up in protest of the idea, but it felt fucking weird to just keep eye contact. 

 

Ichigo ignored him and focused on his task, which wasn’t much more than toughing it out under the water and waiting until the water wasn’t pink. From the sting and the severity of it, he figured Gin hadn’t cut him deep enough to leave any lasting damage, but he hadn’t been fucking around either. Without Orihime around, even with stitches, every one of those cuts were going to scar...if they even had time to.

 

That train of thought stopped dead on the tracks and Ichigo focused on the present. 

 

Ichigo ducked his head under the water, finally grateful for the shock, and stepped back, shutting the water off. He scrubbed his hand through his hair using his less injured arm, and looked down at the bloom of bright red over his skin. He made an annoyed sound and said, “Do you have something for this, or am I just supposed to bleed out?”

 

Grimmjow made an annoyed sound and slipped from his ledge to stalk over to a chest near the opposite wall. Ichigo muttered under his breath. “Sorry I’m  _ mortal _ .”

 

The arrancar returned with a small white box, tossing it at him before he got there. Ichigo caught it and sat, getting to work with both routine and mundane.

 

Grimmjow broke the silence. “You’re pretty good at that.” A shit eating grin split his face. “Must be used to getting the shit kicked out of you.”

 

“Cute,” Ichigo growled. “My dad is a doctor, I learned stuff.” Yuzu and Karin knew more, they were much better at fixing people. His redeeming skill was kicking the fuck out of people, and even that had been failing him.

 

“That was almost a real answer,” Grimmjow said. 

 

Ichigo tore some tape with his teeth and his eyes fell to the gap where Grimmjow’s arm used to be. Not like he gave a damn...but he did. Grimmjow left in one piece, and he runs into him again and the strongest bastard who’d ever just about killed him is missing an arm and demoted to being a babysitter. If Aizen did that to his own army, then what the hell was he going to do to him?

 

“My eyes are up here,” Grimmjow snarled. Sore subject, then, even when he was just looking. Ichigo couldn’t say he felt guilty, not when his arm still throbbed in pain. He finished patching himself up, at least the parts of himself still bleeding, and went for a jacket closest to what he’d worn before. No thanks to Gin, but he wasn’t into kinky ripped shirts. 

 

Ichigo found the closest duplicate and shot Grimmjow a look. “Are you going to watch me strip too?”

 

Grimmjow wrinkled his nose in disgust and got up, leaving the room. Ichigo wasn’t expecting a bought of privacy, but being alone, even for a moment, weighed on his shoulders like gravity. He lied to himself; not a prisoner, not kidnapped. He came here to fix his hollow, he would do that, then escape. Simple.

 

He had a plan, things weren’t out of control. He kept telling himself that and maybe he’d believe it.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Ichimaru Gin**

 

People called him a creep, but he didn’t need to watch a teenage boy get dressed. He flicked the camera back to the hall, to the demoted Espada. Grimmjow paced, the look on his face absolutely murderous. Aizen always seemed to know what he was doing, but this seemed foolish. Frankly, he was shocked the arrancar hadn’t killed the boy yet. It was inexplicable, yet there they stood, relatively untouched. 

 

Leaning back, Gin sighed. He might not be there in person to hover like a mother hen, but this wasn’t much better. He spun in his chair, dragging his fingers over the desk with a bored sigh. He absently lifted his fingers to his throat, prodding tender flesh. Kid had an arm on him, that was going to bruise, badly. 

 

If the kid had been serious, and his reiatsu hadn’t been in flux, Gin thought he might have suffered a crushed windpipe. As it was, he got off easy. The kid was dangerous, and Aizen was intent on raising him like a stray. 

 

Why?

 

The question nagged at him. The boy was astronomically strong for a human. He’d already achieved bankai. An imperfect, unstable bankai, but bankai nonetheless. It was no wonder Soul Society had him under their thumb. Give it some time, and Kurosaki Ichigo might one day be a real monster.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez**

 

This was one distracted kid. Grimmjow had scared the shit out of him three times just by speaking. The first time he thought the shinigami was looking down on him, that he didn't see him as enough of a threat to fucking pay attention. The second time he thought it was a careless disregard for personal safety, but the third time...that was more interesting. 

 

He'd only been walking for a few minutes before Kurosaki had stopped in his tracks. He thought it was a rebellious lack of obedience, but when he reached for his shoulder, the shinigami panicked, like he'd lost track of where he was entirely. 

 

Kurosaki still had Grimmjow’s wrist in his hand, stopping him short from touching him. Even without looking the shinigami had managed it; either he had good instincts, or he'd been on high alert for hours. 

 

There was a confusing mix of fear and anger in those doey fucking brown eyes. It was the same as before, in that shithole little town, and then again earlier. 

 

At first Grimmjow thought Kurosaki was scared of  _ him _ , maybe even of Las Noches. A shinigami stuck in the big bad land of hollows, cry him a fucking river, but he was slowly realizing that wasn’t the case. 

 

He drew his hand back and repeated what Kurosaki had shouted at him. “Shut up?”

 

Kurosaki paled, which was strange. He hadn’t been shy about insulting him before, and this particular insult hadn’t been snarky or irritated, it was desperate. Grimmjow didn’t even remember what he’d asked him, or what he’d wanted, this was far more interesting.

 

Kurosaki shoved his fear down, defaulting to anger. “Back off.”

 

Grimmjow didn’t feel inclined to do that. That fire he hated was back in his eyes, burning with such irritating confidence. “What’s your fucking deal, Kurosaki?”

 

“You.” Kurosaki’s eyes narrowed, lifting a hand to his eye. Kurosaki shifted just a touch, in a way he didn’t even think the other noticed. He dropped his chin, he protected his throat and squared his shoulders to fight. The shinigami growled, his threat finally backed by the weight of his reiatsu. “ _ Back off. _ ” 

 

There it was,  _ that _ was what he wanted; Bloodlust and rage and unfiltered aggression.

 

Grimmjow reached for Pantera, then changed his mind. Curling his hand into a fist, he punched him in the face, or he tried to. Kurosaki flinched to the side, dodging and taking a step back, but that was as far as it went.

 

Grimmjow shouted, “Why won’t you fight?!” Confusion spurred anger and he flickered into sonido, kicking Kurosaki in the side. The shinigami raised his arms to block at the last second, sliding a couple of feet to the side instead of into a wall. If he could stabilize himself with reishi on the fly, he wasn’t a fucking pushover, so why wouldn’t he fight? 

 

Kurosaki glared at him, one eye pitch dark, hollow-like, but that didn't make any sense. Whipping into another brutal assault, Grimmjow saw red bleed into the white of Kurosaki’s sleeve, but it was ignored as the shinigami deflected Grimmjow’s punches. 

 

Kurosaki blocked most, but like before, he was slipping. Grimmjow snarled, “You want to, _ I see it.” _

 

Grimmjow finally grasped Pantera’s hilt, drawing his sword in a rush of steel. Grimmjow demanded, “What’s stopping you?!” The arrancar swung Pantera, his blade angled directly for the shinigami’s throat. 

 

His sword was stopped short by Kurosaki’s hand, the sudden weight of his reiatsu startling, and so very hollow-like. 

 

_ “I am _ ,” Kurosaki snarled, a cackling laugh turning over in his chest. Grimmjow’s eyes widened, realizing the yellow eyes that burned up at his weren’t Kurosaki’s eyes at all.  _ Hollow _ . 

 

That shouldn't be possible. Even as he stared, a mask began to form on the left side his face, confusing him even more. He was a shinigami, not a hollow, and why the fuck did his reiatsu feel so heavy?

 

He didn't get to wonder for long, Kurosaki moved, suddenly gone. Grimmjow whirled under the sharp teeth of instinct, throwing his sword up to block the slash Kurosaki intended for his spine. Their swords clashed, his Zanpakuto grinding along the edge of Pantera. The shinigami continued his downward slash, forcing Grimmjow back with a sadistic laugh that didn’t sound like Kurosaki at all.

 

Grimmjow jumped back, putting some space between them to assess what the fuck was going on. “Who the hell are you?”

 

Kurosaki cackled to himself, dropping his sword to grip it by the cloth that comprised its hilt. He dragged it along the ground, the grating sound of steel scraping stone echoing in the hallway with his laughter. The shinigami had been almost silent the last time they fought, the sudden shift was a little disturbing, it was like he was an entirely different person. 

 

Despite how insane he looked, the hollow actually answered him, flinging the sword at him with a gleeful shout. “Nobody!”

 

Grimmjow raised his sword to block, surprised by how hard it hit. The shock numbed his arm and rattled his teeth, glancing off Pantera’s edge to slam into the wall. The reiatsu backing that attack destroyed the wall and a few behind it in nothing but a reckless surge of power. 

 

Grimmjow took advantage of his weaponless opponent, slipping into sonido to attack his injured side. The hollow spun out of the way, reeling in his sword with a jerk of his arm. Grimmjow slashed again, and the hollow used the fucking cloth to wrap around his arm, keeping him close. 

 

Without another fucking arm, he wasn’t strong enough to break that hold without effort. Grimmjow twisted his wrist and twisted, stopping the returning blade from slicing him in half. It glanced off Pantera’s edge but still cut a deep slash through his thigh. He jerked free, turning his attention back on the hollow in time for the hollow to get his sword back in hand, a crazed grin on his face. 

 

Black reiatsu razed the edge and Grimmjow felt a surge of panic. He couldn’t take an attack like that point blank in the face, not outside resurreccion, and one arm wasn’t going to be enough to hold that back. 

 

Grimmjow threw his arm up and charged a slapdash cero. It would have been too late if the hollow wasn’t greedy in charging his power. Grimmjow fired his cero directly into his downwards slash. Their reiatsu clashed and was thrown straight up in a vortex, but it still hurt like a bitch to have a bomb blow up in his face. He’d been hit with a getsuga once before, but point blank wasn’t a fucking joke.

 

He was hurled back, heels sliding on the ground as he struggled to regain his balance. A hand clamped down on his shoulder stopping him short from being thrown straight into the wall. Gin chuckled, stepping around him to stand between him and Kurosaki. He drew his Zanpakuto and said, “Tap out, it's my turn.” 

 

Catching himself before he fell, Grimmjow squinted past the blood that ran into his eye. He could feel the damage that attack had done, but his eyes were still plastered onto Kurosaki. A hollow hole was spreading in his chest, and the fragments of a mask were growing just as quickly as his grip on sanity slipped. 

 

The hollow howled, he and Gin flickering through a rapid exchange of attacks, with Kurosaki's actions growing increasingly animalistic. Grimmjow had half a mind to ignore Gin’s order to hang back. He was surprised, but this is the fight he’d wanted, the fight he’d  _ earned _ .

 

Grimmjow froze under the sudden crawl of reiatsu over his skin, turning to see Aizen, of all people, at his right. What in the fuck was he doing there? Aizen never took an interest in anything, he delegated orders and kept the arrancar in line, but he was just a distant presence. 

 

The bastard watched with casual interest, commenting idly. “That was quicker than I expected. You really do bring out the best in him, Jaegerjaquez.”

 

The best... the motherfucker planned this? Grimmjow swallowed, uncertain if he was even allowed to speak, but surely the hallway counted as informal? He didn’t understand all these fucking rules. “What is he?”

 

Aizen’s face split into one of those irritatingly knowing smiles, his eyes never leaving Kurosaki. “Something new.”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Aizen Sousuke**

 

Gin certainly wasn't shy about putting the Kurosaki boy in his place. Granted, the boy wasn't feeling any pain, he wasn't feeling anything at all, and it was taking serious physical harm to slow him down. Gin was being careful, but it was going to take a toll.

 

Such a battle of attrition seemed fitting. A shinigami’s Zanpakuto didn’t demand such a high price for power, those negotiations were often an understanding of self, not the strength of the soul and its ability to dominate and fight. And that was what hollows did; consume, dominate and fight.

 

Hollows were pitiable things, but their power couldn’t be ignored, and that made them a curious subject. Cannibalistic savages that they were, they were still fascinating.

 

The visored were a personal project, but Kurosaki was more than that. He was inherently different than the visored, his risks were different, and far more personal. He was born, a living soul with unheard of potential. With each half of his soul poison to the other, it was a miracle he’d lived at all, especially with his hollow side suffocated.

 

That was a happy accident, he hadn't expected Shiba taicho to abandon his post for love, that hollow was intended for Isshin, not the Quincy woman. Things worked out even better than he could have hoped.

 

Watching the boy fight now, if he survived to maturity, he might even be strong enough to one day match him. His growth rate was unheard of; Urahara should have guarded him more closely. His hold on the boy was tenuous, but the man had never had a way with people.  

 

A good liar, but he was too distant, and Aizen could admit, too intelligent. 

 

When Kurosaki was hollow enough for a cero, Aizen raised a hand, and with it, a Kido shield. The hole through his heart was almost complete, he was running out of time. Red energy split around him the arrancar beside him, clearly unhappy being sidelined and protected. 

 

Grimmjow served his purpose, but the arrancar would only pull his punches so long before he killed Kurosaki in his enthusiasm. Cats weren’t known for leaving prey alive, even a playful cat could be deadly, and this one had a personal grudge against Kurosaki. The boy wouldn't be able to kill the arrancar, even weakened, not when he was going berserk. Aizen couldn't have Kurosaki dead so soon, not when he had only just come into his power. 

 

Kurosaki's Quincy blood was too dominating. Here in Hueco Mundo, he could truly grow into his power. 

 

Minutes had passed, but Aizen didn’t believe Kurosaki would lose this battle. It wasn’t a matter of faith, but of empirical data. The process by which this boy learned and excelled was quite usually the route of greatest risk.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Zangetsu**

**_Hollow_ **

 

Kicking his wielder out of his own mindscape was easy when he wanted to go. Zangetsu pulled the sword from his gut, painless, and spun it around, tossing it to catch the hilt into his other hand. “Now win, King, and keep winning.” His life depended on it. Ichigo was in it deep, he needed the power Ossan kept from him, and Hueco Mundo made Zangetsu strong. 

 

He felt the glimmer of Quincy dark pressuring his power. “He's still mine, Ossan.” Accepting what he was would take more than one fight, but Ichigo was one step closer to embracing his instincts, to accepting him entirely. If he could still bleed Ichigo...Trust wasn’t built in a day

 

Ossan might take control yet, but not now. Not yet. 

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

His awareness came back to him in staggered waves, his knees striking the ground with a startling jolt. His hand tightened around Zangetsu, catching himself with the blade in the ground. He was still in bankai, and every bone in his body ached. He was exhausted, but the flood of power in his bones was familiar and strong. It was steady now, and a comfort he hadn’t thought he would ever have to miss. Having it back made all of this less frightening. 

 

“Well done, Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo looked up at Aizen from beneath his mask, eyes narrowing at the expectant smile on the shinigami’s face. Distantly, he recognized Grimmjow’s reiatsu, Gin’s, but Aizen was the one that had his attention. 

 

Forcing himself to stand, Ichigo staggered, and pulled Zangetsu from the ground, lifting it and staring down into the blade. A king and his horse...Zangetsu. A lust for battle...he could deny it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Ichigo looked back at Aizen and accused, “You knew.”

 

Aizen’s smile widened, amused that his part to play had been acknowledged. “Of course, but does a personal victory not mean more when you acquire it on your own?”

 

Ichigo snarled, his own voice nearly unrecognizable under the echo of his hollow. “Don’t lie and say you did this for  _ me _ .”

 

“It isn’t a lie, Ichigo.”

 

Swaying on his feet, Ichigo shook off his exhaustion, noticing just how much pain he was in. He couldn't afford to pass out, not with three enemies within shouting distance. 

 

He couldn't help but notice the only one beat the fuck up was himself and Grimmjow, but the arrancar looked ready to walk it off, despite being a bloody mess. He didn't even remember doing that.

 

Aizen glanced to Grimmjow and said, “You’ve changed your mind?”

 

Grimmjow shot Aizen a look of surprise. “He can barely stand up straight.”

 

Aizen prodded. “Is that a problem? Gin can continue if you've lost interest.”

 

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed in disapproval and he didn't answer. Striding forward, the arrancar didn't even draw his sword. Ichigo tensed, taking a staggering step back to widen his stance, raising Zangetsu before him defensively.

 

Regardless of how this went down, it wasn't going to be pretty. Either he got beaten to shit, or treated like he was made of glass, but both were humiliating. The thought of that was infuriating. What was the point of this? To prove he was still weak?

 

Grimmjow moved, and he didn’t even use sonido; fucker. Ichigo tracked the arrancar’s deliberately slow attack, and there was very little grace in the way he dodged. He lurched to the side, but Grimmjow threw his arm out in a backhand, hitting him with a wave of blue reiatsu.

 

Ichigo raised Zangetsu crosswise to block, splitting Grimmjow’s reiatsu with his own. He slid back in a crouch and forced his body to move. He stepped into shunpo that was backed by the power of his bankai and his hollow side, startling Grimmjow on his armless side. The tip of his sword rested against the underside of his jaw, and Grimmjow froze, staring down at him with wide eyes. 

 

If Grimmjow thought he wouldn’t capitalize on his weakness, he was sorely mistaken, but Ichigo wouldn’t kill him for it. His pride simply couldn’t take any more of this. Ichigo growled, “You’re not taking me seriously.” And that was a mistake. So what if Grimmjow could crush him at full strength? He was sick of being toyed with.

 

Ichigo slowly pulled the tip of his sword back, then skipped back into shunpo, putting distance between them. He wavered on his feet, catching himself, and watched as rage darkened Grimmjow’s expression. He didn’t think the arrancar would like being spared.

 

In a burst of sonido, Grimmjow stopped holding back. It was all he could do to block, and each hit rattled his bones and strained his muscles past the point of exhaustion. Was he fighting for his life? Potentially, and he was losing just as badly as he had in Karakura.

 

Grimmjow kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back into a wall. Choking out a cough as the air was forced from his lungs, he hit the ground, hacking up blood.  _ Fuck, that hurt. _ That last punch had cracked his mask, he could feel his power wavering.

 

**_“I didn’t step aside so you could lose, King.”_ **

 

Ichigo hadn’t thought he’d hear from his hollow. At least not so soon. _ ‘I thought I beat you.’ _

 

**_“Ya didn’t_ ** **kill** **_me, I’m not goin’ anywhere, King.”_ **

 

Pushing himself up, Ichigo panted for air, catching his reflection along the blade of his sword. Pale yellow. His eyes looked like his hollow's, mocking and sharp. Ichigo's weren't like that. He was afraid, he didn’t want to die, but beyond that...he wanted to fight. The smell of his blood was acrid, every breath burned his lungs, and his body protested even an action as simple as sitting up. 

 

“You dead, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow drawled. 

 

He clenched his jaw, tightening a trembling hand around Zangetsu’s hilt. He wanted to fight, his blade howled to cut, and why had he been ignoring it? He wanted it too.

 

The arrancar was only a foot away, lifting his foot to kick him back down. Ichigo moved, his free hand shooting up to catch his foot, stopping him short. Ichigo felt a smile flicker over his face, recalling Zangetsu’s words. He wouldn’t be thrown down and crushed. 

 

Shoving Grimmjow back, Ichigo lunged, flinging his sword out with a shout. “Getsuga tensho!”

 

A crescent of black reiatsu arched from the blade, but Grimmjow was already wary. The arrancar twisted, dodging his attack so it only grazed his side. Ichigo didn’t let up, leaning into his speed with a flurry of desperate attacks. His balance was off and he didn’t bother with any sort of stance, this was nothing but a need for violence. 

 

Ichigo forgot about Aizen, all he saw was Grimmjow, and all he felt was the burning desire to cut him. He saw the smile on Grimmjow’s face, a mad look of joy he’d only seen once before.

 

Grimmjow went at him with reckless abandon, finally drawing his sword. Despite the furious joy Ichigo felt in the shock of Grimmjow's blade clashing against his own, he was tired, and Grimmjow wasn't. 

 

It was only a few moments before Ichigo found himself overwhelmed. Grimmjow's reiatsu sluiced from his blade, crashing against him like a wave. The force of it threw Ichigo to his back, sliding over the ground until he was stopped by rubble.

 

Trembling from head to toe, Ichigo struggled to stand, gasping for breath he couldn't catch. He looked up, realizing Gin stood before him. The traitorous captain stopped Grimmjow's sword short with his hand on his wrist. “That’s enough of that.”

 

Ichigo tried to stand, coughing up another mouthful of blood. “I can still fight.”

 

Gin glanced down at him. “Kid, yer done.”

 

Fragments of his mask chipped and fell to the ground, dissolving into reishi. His mask shattered, his power collapsing in on itself. Gin was right, he was done.

 

Ichigo caught sight of Aizen smiling, and without another word, the bastard turned and walked away. 

 

Ichigo tried to stand and failed, blood dripping from his chin to the ground in a steady patter. His vision was blurry and his limbs wouldn’t obey him, but his pride snapped at him to get up.

 

Grimmjow watched Gin with wild eyes, and Ichigo wondered if he might argue. The moment passed, and the arrancar jerked his arm from his grip. Grimmjow tossed his sword into its sheath and shot Ichigo a sharp smile. “Not bad. Maybe next time I’ll actually have fun.”

 

Ichigo felt a sickening combination of anticipation, disappointment, and pain, but in the end, pain won out, and darkness crept in on the edge of his sight. “Shit.” He collapsed, his hand still tight around Zangetsu’s hilt. He fought to stay conscious, but his body had other plans, and darkness pulled him under. 

 

\---xxx---

  
  


Ossan has pulled Ichigo into his inner world before, so I can only assume his hollow can too. In my opinion, Inemuri really just knocked him out so that could occur and he’d stop running, so there’s my logic for that.

  
  
  
  


**Rankings**

Aizen Sousuke

Kaname Tōsen & Gin Ichimaru

 

**Espada**

0:  Yammy Llargo

1:  Coyote Starrk & Lilynette Gingerbuck

2:  Baraggan Louisenbairn

3:  Tier Harribel (former: Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck)

4:  Ulquiorra Cifer

5:  Nnoitra Gilga

6:  Luppi Antenor (former: Grimmjow)

7:  Zommari Rureaux

8:  Szayelaporro Granz

9:  Aaroniero Arruruerie


	4. 12 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> A bit of character persp. jumping in this one, it felt right. Ichigo is going to get wailed on for a bit.  
> Thanks to my beta reader Ink and Blade!
> 
>  
> 
> Ganbarimasu!

 

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Ichigo woke with a jolt, his environment unfamiliar enough to set off warning bells in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut against a bright light, turning his head to the side and away. His next realization was that he couldn’t raise his arms to shield his eyes. He started to panic, pulling on restraints that held his ankles, wrist, and chest in place, noting that he was decidedly shirtless...again.

 

“Do  _ try _ to calm down,” an impatient voice drawled from his right.

 

Ichigo looked, eyes widening when they landed on an arrancar he’d never seen before. A slender man with pink hair and glasses––no, an arrancar mask––stood close enough to touch, casually taking notes on a touchscreen device as if he didn’t have someone strapped to a table. 

 

“Who the hell are you?” Ichigo demanded.

 

The arrancar paused, this question apparently good enough to gain his attention. He smiled, gesturing to himself with a haughty sort of pride. “Szayelaporro Granz, Octava espada.”

 

Octava...What was that, eight? Weaker than Grimmjow, but that didn’t mean much when he’d lost to the arrancar twice. “Szayelaporro,” Ichigo stressed. “Let me go.”

 

The espada rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his tablet. “That’s a wonderful thank you. Show some more gratitude and I’ll consider it.”

 

Gin’s voice sounded from behind him, out of sight. “Let him go, Szayel.”

 

The pink-haired arrancar frowned, shooting a murderous glare to Gin. That look wasn’t even directed at him and it gave Ichigo chills. 

 

Szayel reached forward, touching something on the side of the table Ichigo was strapped to, and the straps loosened.

 

Ichigo didn’t waste time clambering out of them, deliberately climbing off on the opposite side of the table. He looked for his sword and didn’t see it, turning a tight circle in panic. 

 

Szayel looked disgusted either by mere proximity to his existence or his reaction. Gin warned, “Kid.”

 

Ichigo looked up in time to see Gin heft his sword over to him. He caught it with much more ease than it appeared Gin needed to toss it. His panic immediately subsided, his breathing leveling into something much more normal. He asked, “Now can I get a shirt?”

 

Szayel must have anticipated that question, tossing him a white shirt that was a carbon copy of what the Espada himself wore. Ichigo wasn't happy about being forced to comply with their fashion sense, but he also wasn’t fond of running around a fortress of arrancar without so much as a shirt.  

 

Ichigo watched Szayel while he dressed, wary of that hungry look in the arrancar's eyes and eagerly replaced Zangetsu on his back. The weight was a comfort, like a goddamn security blanket, and now that he had it, he felt much less insecure about whatever the hell this was.

 

Szayel looked to Gin and asked, flatly, “Is that all, Ichimaru-sama?” It looked like it physically hurt the arrancar to add the honorifics to his name.

 

Gin pretended not to notice. “Thanks, Szayel. As ya were.”

 

Szayel’s glare shifted to Ichigo and he suddenly smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, it was one that held the remnants of something violent and mad, something he recalled seeing on Kurotsuchi. “I hope I see you again soon, mestizo.”

 

Ichigo didn’t know what that meant, but he assumed it was an insult. Gin started to leave, and instead of waiting around wherever the hell this was to ask about whatever the hell had just happened, Ichigo followed. The hallways were long, but it was only a few moments before they were...outside? His waraji scraped on a loose layer of white sand, casting a look up at a bright, pale blue sky. “Where are we?”

 

Gin answered, “Las Noches.” The man looked back and explained, “Hueco Mundo is a world of eternal night. Aizen-sama didn’t like it, so Las Noches is beneath a dome with a Kido sky.”

 

Ichigo had flashbacks to Urahara’s underground training field. He’d always wondered how he’d done it, but this was on a massive scale, it went on for miles. It was daunting, to stand directly underneath proof of his inferiority to the shinigami. Maybe that was the point.

 

Gin was watching him eye the dome, deciding to continue his explanation. “Szayel healed you. Came damn near close to bleeding out.”

 

Ichigo felt the memories come flooding back, looking over the alien landscape with a grumble, “Whose fault is that?”

 

Gin chuckled, and Ichigo looked at him, noticing the purple over Gin’s throat.  _ He _ must have done that...he didn’t remember. 

 

**_“Ya ain’t here by choice, King.”_ **

 

His hollow was right, but he didn’t like to think about it. Walking back to the fortress, Ichigo noticed a smudge of blue in the shadow of the wall. In the glare of the sun, it was almost impossible to see within the shadow of Las Noches.

 

Once he stepped into the shadow of his prison, Ichigo’s eyes adjusted and he made out Grimmjow leaning near a door, watching him with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. The expression looked alien on the arrancar’s face, especially since he’d only really seen him in battle.

 

Once he was close enough, Grimmjow said, “Looks like you’re alive, shinigami.”

 

For once, that title felt like it didn’t fit. Ichigo frowned, clenching his hands into fists instead of indulging his desire to draw his sword. He thought the feeling might be mutual since he saw a ripple of tension in Grimmjow’s shoulders, the other tightening his jaw.

 

Gin moved past them and paused shoulder to shoulder with Grimmjow. “12 hours, Grimmjow, don’t forget.” 

 

The shinigami left them standing outside of Las Noches, and for a long moment, nothing was said. Ichigo questioned. “12 hours?”

 

Grimmjow puffed a laugh. “Yeah, Kurosaki, 12 hours, and then we can fight.”

 

Now it made sense. 12 hours was more than enough time to recover the reiatsu he’d lost. 12 hours was a long time to wait.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Tatsuki**

 

Ichigo wasn’t at school. 

 

Tatsuki thought it was the usual, but there was a distinct shift in his friends. All of them were quiet, somber. Walking across the school grounds, she passed the soccer field, and Karin wasn't playing. She crouched on the sidelines, tearing up handfuls of grass just to watch the wind blowing then away. It didn't take a genius to know something was wrong, and it settled in her gut like poison.

 

She went to his house, but standing there on his porch, she lost the nerve. She and Ichigo hadn’t been friends since they were children, his father probably didn't even know her. She gave him a lot of shit, she watched him from afar, but he'd never escaped her notice. 

 

Tatsuki turned to Inoue instead. It was sudden, but the two had seemed closer, and when Ichigo disappeared, Inoue shut down. Her smile was fake, she didn't pay attention in class; she  _ knew _ something. 

 

Ichigo had been dressed in all black, a sword in hand, fighting a monster and he’d been losing.

 

Now he was gone.

 

Standing there in front of Inoue’s house, it was dark, and she wondered if she was even there. Tatsuki wasn’t sure how long she stood there in the dark before the door was flung open. She found herself nearly nose to nose with Inoue, both of their eyes widening in shock. 

 

For a split second, Inoue’s unmasked feelings were raw on her face; fear, uncertainty, guilt, and then they were gone, buried under a wide smile. “Tatsuki! I’m sorry, I was just about-”

 

“ _ Inoue _ . Where is he?”

 

Inoue’s expression crumpled, and some of that fear and guilt shone through. “I-I can't…”

 

“Inoue, I know _ , I know _ what he is.” And she still wasn't sure she wanted to know. Her tone slipped, quiet. “Please, tell me.”

 

Inoue struggled to answer, torn between the truth and a lie, but either something she saw, or something she felt had her leaning towards the truth. “Okay...you should come with me.”

 

\---xxx---

 

Tatsuki wasn't expecting to find herself in a room with Ichigo. She stared at him, and something was off, wrong. That haunted look in his eyes was gone, he looked more nervous, and at the same time, less closed off...this wasn’t Ichigo. “Who are you?”

 

Ichigo...no, the person masquerading as Ichigo opened his mouth, but Rukia answered for him. “This is Kon. You’ve met.” Rukia looked serious, dressed in a black shihakusho, just like Ichigo had been.

 

Tatsuki looked back at ‘Ichigo’. He felt off; that aura of his was too different to be him, along with those eyes. They weren’t intense like Ichigo’s, they were soft, sad. All those times Ichigo was acting strange made more sense, and at the same time she felt like she was trapped in a fever dream.

 

Tatsuki looked from ‘Ichigo’ to Rukia. “I’m not sure I fully understand.”

 

Inoue explained, “The Ichigo in black that you saw, that was his soul. Right now, another soul is in his body; Kon.”

 

Kon gave her a half hearted smile. “Hi.” Distress pulled at Ichigo’s face, and Kon looked away in guilt. “They knew it wasn’t him. I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t keep pretending.”

 

Rukia sighed, voice tight. “You don’t need to keep apologizing, you were only supposed to be a temporary solution. If they know, there’s no reason you had to stay.”

 

Tatsuki’s eyes widened. “So you kidnap his body?”

 

Kon paled, shifting uncomfortably, and Urahara cut in. “Not exactly. It’s better his body is inhabited. Ichigo can leave it temporarily, but longer than a day and, well, I don’t recommend it.”

 

Tatsuki didn’t want to ask why, and no one present was going to dispute it, so she had to assume in this new reality, that made perfect sense. The conversation fell off while they waited, no one feeling particularly interested in small talk.

 

Chad and Ishida showed up together, with the latter seemingly confused on Tatsuki’s presence, but he didn’t question it so much as glance to her in curiosity.

 

They all sat in this Urahara person’s sitting room, and for a long few minutes, no one had said anything. 

 

Inoue spoke first, her tone quiet, but strong. “We’re going to go get him, right?”

 

Urahara’s eyes slipped to Rukia, and the girl tightened her hands into fists on her knees. “I know what Kon said, but we have no  _ proof _ he didn't go on his own.”

 

Tatsuki looked between them all and when no explanation was given, she asked, “Where did he go?”

 

Rukia said, “Ichigo is with Aizen, not of his own will.”

 

“Then what’s the problem,” Tatsuki asked. “You’re going to go get him back, right?”

 

Urahara said, “Aizen is likely one of the only people strong enough to oppose Soul Society. He has an entire army whose strength remains unknown, and his own power is enough to challenge the Gotei 13 alone. Charging in to save Kurosaki-san would be unwise.”

 

“So you’re doing nothing?” Tatsuki asked, appalled.

 

Rukia looked to her, empathy in her eyes. “Soul Society is considering Ichigo to be guilty of treason. If we manage to get him back, he’ll still stand trial.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Tatsuki said, “He’s barely even one of you. He’s got school,  _ family _ .”

 

Something that looked like guilt flashed in Rukia’s eyes. “I know, I’m very aware, but that doesn’t change reality.”

 

Ishida’s voice was tight. “I agree with Tatsuki-san. Soul Society has no power over him.”

 

Urahara finally spoke. “I’m afraid Soul Society won’t see it that way. They allowed Ichigo to return with strict conditions even Kurosaki-san was unaware of.”

 

Ishida snapped, “They were spying on him.”

 

Urahara's lips twitched into a frown and he confirmed. “Yes. Kurosaki-san is very strong, yet I don’t believe they expected Aizen to show interest in him, especially after the man nearly bisected him. In hindsight, I should have expected it as well.”

 

Inoue shifted, uneasy, her eyes settling on Rukia’s back, “Kuchiki-san...Did you know?”

 

The guilt on Rukia’s face darkened her eyes, and after a long moment, she answered, ‘Yes.”

 

Inoue smiled, and it twisted Tatsuki’s heart. “I see.”

 

Urahara said, “The good news is, if Aizen took him, he’s alive, and he’s likely to remain that way for the foreseeable future.”

 

Tatsuki said, “And when he doesn’t do what Aizen wants?”

 

Urahara let out a soft sigh and said, “He will.”

 

Rukia’s eyes sharpened on the shopkeeper. “What makes you so certain?”

 

Urahara looked around the group and said, “Rukia may be aware, but the rest of you may not be. Kurosaki-san has a hollow.”

 

Ishida’s brows furrowed. “Kurosaki is a shinigami, I don’t understand.”

 

Urahara shifted and stood, returning with a laptop. He sat again, and wordlessly searched for something, the screen brightening his face. He turned it around to face them and tapped the spacebar.

 

Ichigo stood with a white mask on his face, red stripes cascading down the left side of it. It was hard to see details with the distortion and the size, but it was undoubtedly Ichigo. Urahara paused the video only seconds later, just to prove to them it was real, she supposed. The others seemed to understand the gravity of this more than she did, 

 

Urahara said, “Yoruichi-san tells me that this wasn’t a hindrance for the majority of your time in Seireitei, but it seems his battle with Kuchiki-san changed things. I’m sure you’ve noticed Kurosaki-san’s erratic behavior.” From the guilty looks exchanged, Tatsuki could only assume everyone saw it, but no one had known what to say. “I’m left to assume his hollow was fighting to become the dominant personality.”

 

Tatsuki felt her blood chill, recalling the haunted looks in Ichigo’s eyes,the distraction, the fear. 

 

Urahara continued, “If Aizen has offered him a solution, Kurosaki-san isn’t the type to refuse.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he’s changed sides,” Tatsuki said. “What’s all this got to do with Ichigo anyway? This isn’t his fight.”

 

“You’re right, Tatsuki-san,” Urahara said. “Kurosaki-san doesn’t have a dog in this fight.”

 

Rukia’s eyes narrowed. “You think Aizen plans to change that?”

 

Tatsuki looked back to the laptop, at the pixelated red stripes on a bone white mask. Urahara closed the laptop and said, “It would be foolish not to assume as much. Kurosaki-san is a wildcard, his potential is vast.”

 

Ishida pushed up his glasses and leaned forward. “I agree that Kurosaki is strong, but he’s already acquired bankai, there’s nowhere left to go.”

 

Urahara blinked at him then absently tugged the brim of his hat. “Ahh, Quincy, I’m afraid that’s just not true.”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

The stupid shinigami wouldn’t eat. Grimmjow didn’t think he should give a damn, but if the fucker wouldn’t eat, then he wouldn’t recover and they wouldn’t fight. Simple. 

 

Grimmjow shoved a tray of food over the ground at him with his foot. It slid to a stop a foot from Kurosaki’s knee, a third of it knocked onto the ground, but he didn’t care, it was the principle of the thing. 

 

Kurosaki glared at him, and Grimmjow glared right back, barking an order. “Eat.” 

 

The shinigami was sitting cross legged, his sword on the ground within arms reach, purposefully foregoing the couch situated against the far wall. Kurosaki looked at the food, then away. “No.”

 

Grimmjow wasn’t used to being told ‘no’, it was enraging. His hand twitched towards Pantera, but he stopped himself. He still had eight hours to go, eight more hours of this shit. 

 

If his fraccion weren’t six feet under, they could do this shit instead, but he was on his own again, and that was fine. 

 

Grimmjow said, “It’s been over a day since your scrawny ass got dumped here, don’t fucking lie to me. Reiatsu like that, you should be starving.” 

 

Once the kid woke up, it was like night and day. This damp rag from the day before was hovering at captain level reiatsu and he wasn’t even all the way recovered yet. The kid just let it ooze out of him like Starrk, either uncaring or unaware he was doing it, but Grimmjow assumed the latter. The kid was strong  _ for a kid _ , but he lacked control. Judging from Aizen and Tousen and Gin, this kid should have a sealed state for his Zanpakuto, but Grimmjow hadn’t ever seen it.

 

Kurosaki narrowed his eyes at him and growled, “Didn’t say I wasn’t hungry, I said no.”

 

Grimmjow took that personally, snarling, “Think I’d fuckin  _ poison _ you? What kind of-”

 

“I said  _ no _ ! Stop putting words in my mouth.” Kurosaki watched him warily, like he might get kicked in the head, which was a perfectly good concern to have. He said, “I’m anxious. That’s all.”

 

Anxious? Grimmjow looked taken aback, staring at him a long moment. “You’re  _ scared _ ?” He laughed, his tone dripping in derision. “Ya ain’t gonna get any sympathy from me,  _ shinigami _ .”

 

Kurosaki’s eyes narrowed when he called him a shinigami, which left Grimmjow feeling his insult was justified. The shinigami snapped, “I said I was  _ anxious _ . Believe it or not, but there's other shit I'd rather be doing than playing house guest in Las Noches.”

 

“Pff you’re not a  _ guest _ ,” Grimmjow corrected, “You’re a prisoner.”

 

Kurisaki groaned, “God, haven’t you ever heard of a euphemism?”

 

“Euthanizing? Yeah I’ve heard of it.”

 

Kurosaki gave him a withering look and finally shifted to stand, realizing he wasn’t going to go away. He grabbed his sword, the edge scraping along the ground with a metallic twang as he straightened. “What do you care?”

 

Grimmjow’s scowl deepened like that was the dumbest shit he’d ever heard. “How the hell am I supposed to fight you if you pass the fuck out?”

 

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Kurosaki argued. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Really? Cause you passed the fuck out last time.”

 

Outrage brightened Kurosaki’s eyes and he snapped, “I was going through some shit. Next time will be different you sonic looking asshole.”

 

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at the insult, not having a clue what half of it meant, so he chose to ignore it. “It better be, shinigami, or next time you’ll end up dead.” There was no fear reflection in Kurosaki’s eyes...no, that irritating determination was back, like he wasn’t facing a threat at all. 

 

Grimmjow grabbed him by the front of his kosode, jerking him in close. “Ya hear me, Kurosaki?”

 

The shinigami didn’t make a move to use his sword or push him away at all, he only glared. “I hear you.” 

 

Grimmjow could smell the fear on him, but Kurosaki’s voice was steady, confident, and he had no reason to be. “How long?”

 

“What?”

 

Kurosaki didn't even blink, clarifying, “How many more hours?

 

Grimmjow was surprised by the question, scowl deepening. “About eight.”

 

“So stow it.” 

 

Grimmjow ground his teeth, those fucking honey brown eyes  _ judging _ him, waiting for something. He gave the shinigami a rough shove, but Kurosaki caught himself with more grace than he’d hoped for. He just kept  _ staring _ at him. “Eat, shinigami. I ain’t done with you.”

 

Turning his back, Grimmjow left, feeling Kurosaki’s eyes burning into his back until he was out of sight.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

**_“The arrancar is right.”_ **

 

_ 'If I eat now I'm just going to throw up.’ _

 

Silence, and his hollow repeated. “ **_The arrancar is_ ** **right** **_. You burned through a lotta energy, King.”_ **

 

_ ‘So what?” _

 

His hollow drawled sarcastically.  **_“Wasn't aware you could afford to lose your edge.”_ **

 

Ichigo clenched his jaw in annoyance, because the hollow was  _ right _ . He couldn't afford to be anything short of his best, not when failure meant death. Would Aizen go through all of this to let him die? He didn't know, but assuming he wouldn't was stupid and naive. 

 

He eyed the food with a frown. It wasn't much, he didn't even know what it was, but all he had to do was keep it down.  

 

Dragging it over with a scowl, Ichigo grimaced when he inadvertently smeared the remnants of what looked like rice over the ground. Appetizing. 

 

**_“It don't have to be appetizing, do you want to live, or not, King?”_ **

 

Again with that title and that condescending voice. Ichigo loathed that he was right. Grimmjow was right, Aizen was right...and he was just the dumbass getting jerked around. 

 

He  _ was _ scared, but no one was to save his scrawny ass, and after watching Gin destroy his badge in a wave of blue reiatsu, he knew that was true. Maybe Rukia gave a damn, but she wasn't acting on her own, and he hoped to whatever fucking Gods there were that his stupid friends didn't try to come here. He was trapped in a world with arrancar and hollow and they all loathed his very existence. He glowered at the mess of cold sustenance on the ground and felt a twang in his heart. He missed his sisters. 

 

God, what would they think? Kon couldn’t pretend to be him for too long, they were too different. Would they think that their brother ran away, that his dumb ass finally ended up dead in some ditch? They deserved better, he resolved to make it through this shit so at the very least his sisters wouldn’t have to mourn their brother.

 

No he’d get the fuck out of here and they could get mad, they could call him a worthless fucking waste of space but they wouldn’t be sad. He never wanted them to be sad like that again. Unrealistic, but he could control his own life, he could do that.

 

Picking up the plate and trying not to gag, Ichigo finally ate. As far as food went it was bland and inoffensive, otherwise he wasn't sure if he would have made it past picking up a utensil. 

 

One step at a time. Eat, rest, fight. Ichigo had a sinking feeling this was going to become routine. 

 

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

Keeping time in Hueco Mundo was an uphill battle, but Grimmjow had some help from the pink-haired fucker on that. It was more or less just to track the passage of time, given that Hueco Mundo wasn’t perfectly in sync with the rest of the worlds. He was back for that shinigami bastard minutes ahead of the end of their time-out. He knew if he crossed that line, Aizen wouldn’t let it slide, so he counted those minutes with unrestrained eagerness.

 

He didn’t expect to come back to find the kid staring into the blade of his sword like it held the meaning of life. He had it draped over crossed legs and the size of it made it look more like a sharp table. He had one hand on the hilt, and the other on the blade, scowling down at it with an intensity Grimmjow hadn’t seen since their fight.

 

“Stare at it all damn day, it won’t improve your chances, shinigami.”

 

The kid knew he was there, he’d seen it in the tightening of his shoulders, but he didn’t react until Grimmjow spoke. Kurosaki’s eyes flicked up to meet his own. Grimmjow saw bloodlust and anger and violence in those eyes, along with a confidence he had no business having. Grimmjow felt his face split with a cackle. “That’s a nice look, shinigami.”

 

“How long?” Kurosaki asked.

 

Grimmjow held up the time keeper, nothing but a small disc with a number display. “6 Minutes.”

 

Kurosaki finally blinked and stood, moving with targeted, deliberate motions that made it clear the other was treating him like this fight had already started. He was tense and ready and lacking the squishy nature Grimmjow thought might still be lingering. And he ate something, wouldn’t ya know?

 

Grimmjow turned his back without fear, the kid wouldn’t hit him from behind, he knew that as resoundly as Grimmjow knew he couldn’t kill him that way either. It was a fucking waste.

 

Leading him to a huge room in Las Noches, the kid followed without a word, but he could still feel his eyes on his back. Grimmjow turned to face him and smirked. “43 seconds.”

 

The kid shifted his stance, holding his sword out before him. Power coiled around him and surged. “Bankai!” 

 

It was different than before, this power was darker, more oppressive. It was the stillness before a storm, the crackle of their power in the air raising Grimmjow's hackles in anticipation. 

 

Both of them were counting now, and Grimmjow knew they were being watched.

 

2

 

1

 

To Grimmjow’s surprise, Kurosaki moved first. He raised his hand in a claw before his face, his power climbing, and he raked it down, the flood of his reiatsu billowing in a heavy riptide of black and red energy.

 

Kurosaki’s reiatsu split to reveal that hollow mask. White and red, thick stripes painting the left side of his face in claw-like streaks. Those yellow eyes blazed against the darkness of his sclera with a want for violence that made his heart race. 

 

The shinigami disappeared, his speed blinding when he was at his peak. Grimmjow drew Pantera, blocking one of the most telegraphed attacks he’d ever seen. Why the fuck would he do that?

 

Kurosaki pressured him down, and spoke. “Getsuga tensho.” The power that steamrolled into him was ripping and savage, his hierro blocking enough of it that he could save his reiatsu for what he knew was coming. The weight of Kurosaki’s sword disappeared, and Grimmjow sensed the shinigami behind him. 

 

Whirling, Grimmjow raised his sword to guard, Kurosaki’s sword hacking into the edge of Pantera. Kurosaki snarled, “You’re faster than this.” 

 

The shinigami was hitting harder, faster, and it wasn’t only because he was alert and ready, he felt astronomically different from the person he’d fought in Karakura. The shinigami was holding back, that fucking asshole. Blood poured down his face, hot and sticky, he could taste it on his lips, and yet the shinigami was untouched. 

 

Kurosaki hammered at him with a speed and savagery the reminded him of an Espada, not a shinigami. His sword flashed against the dark of the room, silent precursors to brutality. The dark of his sword struck Panter’s edge in a crossguard over his chest, the ring of steel echoing in the gloom. Kurosaki’s eyes burned from the other side of their sword, narrowed in a steadfast determination that made Grimmjow want to claw them out.

 

Another getsuga hit him point black from the edge of Kurosaki’s sword, and it was all he could do to guard himself. Grimmjow jumped back, blackened reiatsu churning among the pale blue of his own power as it was separated and and snuffed out. Kurosaki blurred out of sight, and another was aimed for his back. Grimmjow raised Pantera to guard, and took the hit, having just about enough of getting shit on. Kurosaki wasn’t fucking around.

 

Charging a cero before his clenched fist, Kurosaki ran straight for him, crazy asshole. Red power coalesced and grew when he fed it his reiatsu and Grimmjow fired it directly at him. To his shock, the shinigami didn’t take the hit or run, he cut straight through it. His cero spiraled off into two parts to destroy yet more of Las Noches, the sound of cracking stone thundering in the confines of la Noches.

 

Then Kurosaki was inches away, his sword angled for his throat. Grimmjow raised Pantera in haste, Kurosaki’s sword chipping and grinding away at Pantera’s edge. The strength of it sent Grimmjow sliding back on his heels, eyes widening in surprise at the force behind the blow. Kurosaki launched into a flurry of attacks, each hitting harder than the last. 

 

The shinigami was letting his control slip, he was holding back less and less. At this rate, he wasn’t going to be able to hold off on resurreccion. 

 

Grimmjow’s lips curled into a snarl, dodging a downward slash to step in close. He swung Pantera through nothing but thin air, the shinigami suddenly beside him, gathering another getsuga. Shit.

 

Kurosaki swung, and his mask splintered and shattered, his power caving in on itself. It shocked them both enough for Kurosaki to freeze up midswing.

 

Not about to let an opportunity go to waste, Grimmjow took advantage, lunging forward and kicking him solidly in the gut. The air got knocked out of his lungs, he heard the whoosh of air from his lungs when he hit him. He kicked him hard enough to send him flying back into a wall, the stone cratering under the force. 

 

Kurosaki slid to the ground, catching himself on unsteady feet and staggering with a desperate gasp for air. Grimmjow saw fear in his eyes, but he never let go of his sword. That was good.

 

Reaching a clawed hand up over his face, Kurosaki tried to summon his mask again, but his reiatsu was unstable, and it shattered before it could form. The irritation and concern was plain on his face, even from a hundred yards away. 

 

Grimmjow taunted, “What’s the matter, shinigami?”

 

Kurosaki shifted into a stance, still struggling for breath, but raised his sword defensively. Grimmjow curled forward, raising his own sword, “What happened to all that,” and burst into sonido, “fight?!”

 

Kurosaki blocked, Pantera’s battered edge now more than enough to hammer him back. Kurosaki slid back until his back struck the wall, arms folding under the strain. Grimmjow laughed, hitting him with a wave of reiatsu. Kurosaki grimaced, power slicing into his skin in trenches, almost unprotected compared to before. “Is that all you’ve got?” Grimmjow roared.

 

Kurosaki started to push back, bracing himself, and Grimmjow didn’t allow him the time to test his strength. Lurching forward, Grimmjow slammed his forehead against Kurosaki’s in a headbutt that stunned the shinigami enough for his arms to go slack. 

 

Grimmjow drew his arm back and hit Kurosaki in the gut with a bala, knocking him through the wall, and the one behind it in a cascade of rubble. Grimmjow called out at the settling dust and shifting rock. “I know you’re not dead!”

 

A few seconds passed, and Kurosaki pulled himself from the debris, blood pouring down his face to soak into the hem of his shirt, red blooming into white. He coughed, vomiting up blood and bile, staining ivory stone with the evidence of his failure. He staggered, but stood, raising his sword to continue, as if he wasn’t about to lose. The shinigami swayed like a drunk, squinting through what had to be a rattled brain and a spasming diaphragm. The kid was tough, to stand after a direct hit like that.

 

Grimmjow started to laugh, the sound echoing back to him, distorted. He stalked through the gaping hole in the wall he’d made with Kurosaki’s body and took his damn time closing in on him. Let him sweat. Kurosaki looked like he was on his last legs. He could keep fighting, but a hit to the gut and the head and he would be hard pressed to stay conscious. 

 

Grimmjow gathered reiatsu in his sword, his grip tightening, and a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He froze in shock. Ulquiorra. 

 

Casting a glance back at the Espada, Ulquiorra read the confusion in his eyes as he explained, “Aizen wishes to speak with the boy.”

 

“Now?” Grimmjow protested.

 

Ulquiorra’s expression didn’t change, but Grimmjow could swear he saw the condescension in his eyes. “Aizen cannot speak to someone who is dead.” 

 

His grip tightened, uncomfortable, and Grimmjow grit his teeth throwing his sword into his sheath. “Whatever, take him.”

 

Kurosaki hadn’t moved, looking between the two, unsure if he should continue to fight.

 

“Sword down, shinigami,” Ulquiorra said. “You’re finished here.”

 

Frustration burned in the shinigami’s eyes, frustration that oddly mirrored Grimmjow’s own. He blinked, blood stinging his eyes, and in a surge of real anger, dropped out of bankai. 

 

So close to a bloody death and he still wanted to fight...Kurosaki Ichigo was interesting. 

 

Prey stolen from him, Grimmjow spat a mouthful of blood on the ground and shoved his hand in his pocket, turning his back on them both. It was real goddamn disappointing, and yet, the thrill still sang in his blood and dulled the pain of his wounds. Kurosaki had gotten better. Much better, and it had only been a few hours. If he kept that up, he might actually be worthy of killing.

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Grimmjow turned his back and Ichigo felt a flash of rage. Despite Ulquiorra’s presence, he wasn’t worth Grimmjow’s time, he wasn’t worth the effort. He’s been a mouse in the claws of a cat, getting battered to death while it played and he fought for his life.  _ Pathetic _ . 

 

He could do better than this, and his hollow was suspiciously silent

 

Ulquiorra started to walk, and Ichigo sheathed his sword and hesitantly followed, keeping a good amount of distance between him and his captor. The arrancar made him uneasy. It wasn’t his silence, it was the cloak of nihilism over his words and his entire being. He was true chaotic neutral, it made him unpredictable.

 

Focusing on one foot after the other, Ichigo struggled to keep pace, wondering if the plan was to just bleed him to death on the stroll there. He swiped his sleeve over his face, smearing blood over his chin and cheek. His head kept bleeding––no surprise––dripping in a steady stream onto his shirt, but it was slowing, and he could keep walking, so no mercy was given. 

 

With all the head injuries he'd sustained over the past few months, he had to wonder if he didn't have some kind of brain damage. He might, with how badly he wanted to continue his fight. He shouldn't kid himself, Ulquiorra showing up had probably saved his life, and he was under no delusion that so called coincidence had been anything but intentional.

 

His mask shattered, and he had lost.

 

_ ‘Hollow _ ?’

 

No answer.

 

Ichigo let it be, trailing Ulquiorra down the corridors of Las Noches until they reached a room. The door was huge, as far as doors went. Maybe if it looked more like a door and not a simple rectangle it might have looked comical, but this just looked intimidating, and he thought that was the point. 

 

Ulquiorra merely gestured at the door and left, leaving Ichigo to scowl at it and wonder what he should do. He felt an odd combination of anxiety, adrenaline, and exhaustion. 

 

‘Go in’ seemed like the obvious course of action, but did he want to comply? He was still debating what to do when the door cracked open, leaving him face to face with Gin.

 

The fox smiled at him and teased, “Cold feet, kid? Don’t keep ‘im waitin’.”

 

The implication he was scared annoyed him because it wasn’t far off the mark. Ichigo brushed past him into the room, finding it no different from the rest of what he’d seen so far. Sprawling, little to nothing in the way of furniture or decoration, with massive ceilings and no apparent need for support columns. The room had a single chair, opening up into the backdrop of a dark night sky; It was brutalist and alien and cold and Ichigo hated it. 

 

Gin shut the door after him, leaving Ichigo to stare at Aizen’s back from across the room. It was uncomfortably intimidating to stand alone in a room with him.

 

Aizen turned, disturbing cheer present in a smile on his face. He walked up behind the throne, resting a hand on the back of it. “Sit, Ichigo. You look like you’re struggling.”

 

Clenching his teeth, Ichigo answered, “I’ll pass.”

 

Smile widening, Aizen’s lifted a brow and chided. “ _ Ichigo… _ ” He tapped a finger on the stone back. “I insist.”

 

Ichigo stared at him a long moment, then walked up to the throne, frowning at it like it owed him money. Aizen waited patiently, pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact he was damn near bleeding out. Ichigo paused just arms reach from Aizen, right eye narrowed through the sting of blood. He felt like this was a trap of some sort, but he couldn’t think of what it could be. Chairs weren’t sinister...but Aizen was.

 

Aizen merely waited, so self assured that Ichigo would do as he ordered. Ichigo took Zangetsu from his back, leaning it up against the arm of the throne. Trailing bloody fingers along the arm of the chair, Ichigo turned and sat heavily with a grimace, the motion agony. Grimmjow must have actually cracked a rib with that kick, because breathing was heavy and that simple action had him seizing up in pain. 

 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

 

Ichigo glanced up at Aizen, unsure what the fucking game here was. The ex captain sat on the arm of the chair, uncomfortably close. Ichigo wasn’t sure if he was sweating from the pain or from fear, but the last thing he wanted was to have the man out of sight.

 

Aizen asked, “Was that difficult for you because you fear me? Is it because you know this throne is mine? Is it because you know you don’t deserve it? Because you don’t want it? Or perhaps all of these things?”

 

Ichigo paled. He hadn’t even considered  _ why _ , only that he hadn’t wanted to. Sitting here at the back of a massive room, he felt he didn’t belong. He could see the blood he’d trailed to the throne, the red smudges his fingers left on the arm of the chair. It was like bleeding on a strangers carpet; it was going to be a bitch to get off. 

 

Eyes flicking towards Aizen when he moved. The shinigami reached for Zangetsu, resting his hand on the curve of the blade. It thrummed beneath his hand, fury ringing in the steel and in his heart. 

 

Aizen spoke conversationally. “You have too much fear of me.”

 

Ichigo swallowed and asked, “Isn’t it justified? You almost cut me in half the first time we met.”

 

Aizen smiled. “Do you really think I couldn’t have if I tried? You are a resilient young man.” Ichigo could only interpret that to mean ‘no hard feelings’. He added, “I won’t harm you without reason.”

 

If Aizen wanted him dead, Ichigo knew he would be, it didn’t feel like a lie. Ichigo said,“Maybe not, but you’ll have Gin do it, or your arrancar do it.”

 

Aizeb brushed him off. “Do you not value strength? Do you wish to be weak, Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo looked up at Aizen, and the look in his eyes was sharp, daring him to lie. 

 

Breath hitching through a spike of pain, Ichigo looked away. “No.” He wanted to win, he wanted the power to protect the people he gave a damn about.

 

“Then I should have your gratitude.” Aizen took his hand away from Zangetsu and the steel stopped screaming its resistance.

 

Gratitude. A flicker of anger caught in Ichigo’s throat, his hand clenching into a fist. “I’m supposed to be grateful you threatened my family and kidnapped me? You can’t be serious.”

 

“Things aren’t so black and white, Ichigo. Were you really so ready to trust the people that would have executed Rukia?”

 

Ichigo said, “You weren’t tripping over yourself to save her.”

 

“My, what a short memory. Did you forget just who it was that implanted the hogyoku in your friend’s soul?”

 

Kisuke. Lifting a hand to his ribs, Ichigo braced himself to look up at Aizen, and the man’s smile turned a touch condescending. “Perhaps if I also apologized, my actions would be forgiven?”

 

The man kept equating him to a child, and wasn’t he, compared to these people? 

 

Aizen kept talking. “I’ve done you favors, Ichigo-”

 

“I didn’t ask you to,” Ichigo snapped, “I don’t owe you anything.”

 

“Boy, allow me to finish.” Aizen’s voice was hardened, and Ichigo shyed back from it. Maybe if he wasn’t beat to shit he’d have a different opinion, but he was painfully at Aizen’s mercy. 

 

Aizen continued, “You don’t share my cause, but neither do you align with Soul Society. Yet here you are, inexorably tied to our conflicts and problems. You don’t wish to be a part of this, Ichigo, but look at yourself.”

 

Aizen didn’t finish that statement, and Ichigo did look. He raised a hand to his forehead, tenderly prodding that head wound. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it was far from pleasant. Red still stained the white of his shirt, bleached as a hollows mask. They contrasted uncomfortably with the black of his shihakusho; not a shinigami, and not hollow. He looked away and asked, “What’s your point, Aizen?”

 

“You’re going to need to choose a side. You can’t remain sidelined for long.”

 

“Are you asking me to join  _ you _ ?”

 

“No, Ichigo, but where else can you go. Soul Society won’t allow you to remain outside of this fight.”

 

“No thanks to you.”

 

“You truly believe their hostility is solely my fault?  _ Ichigo _ . Soul Society would cage you or kill you, do you think they would tolerate a visored?”

 

“Visored…” Ichigo repeated. Ichigo felt like Aizen was holding his hand, trying to show him something obvious, something a child wouldn’t understand without guidance. It was infuriating to be talked down to, but painfully necessary, Ichigo didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

 

“Yes. You aren’t the first Soul Society has forsaken, and you won’t be the last. Is there any love lost for shinigami with these arrancar?”

 

Ichigo realized what Aizen meant. Hollows were nothing but the consequence of shinigami failing to do their job. Could he blame them? He didn’t think he could. Ichigo said, “So if I wanted to leave...you would let me go?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes flicked up to meet Aizen’s, confused and disbelieving. “But I would caution you with a word of warning. Currently, you’re nothing but a traitor to them, but you’re also important to them, they need you. You haven’t seen Kyoya Suigetsu, and I don’t intend to show it to you.”

 

Ichigo had almost forgotten. He’d chalked it up to Aizen’s arrogance, or his own weakness, but it was intentional? Brows furrowing, Ichigo asked, “Why?”

 

“What is that throne to you, Ichigo? Do you desire it? Would you lie me for it, fight for it, kill for it?”

 

Ichigo looked down, away from the room and Aizen and all of that white. He answered. “No...I don’t want this.”

 

“You aren’t a threat to me, Ichigo. The things you cherish most are of no concern to me or mine. You’ve been under my protection for some time now.” Aizen laid a hand on his shoulder, and Ichigo stiffened, a fearful chill racing up his spine. Aizen smiled at him. It wasn’t colored with sadism and violence, it could almost be friendly. “Relax, Ichigo. I don’t want you dead.”

 

The healing Kido that washed over him startled Ichigo, tensing with the sudden numbness and the intrusive feeling of someone else’s reiatsu so close to his skin. His breath caught when his bones realigned, it was always unpleasant to fix something so dramatic. 

 

Aizen asked, “What will you do, Ichigo?”

 

Anxiety twisted Ichigo’s guts into knots, He asked a question instead. “What happens if I stay?”

 

“What would you like to happen?”

 

Ichigo’s eyes snapped up to Aizen’s face and he answered without hesitation. “I want to get stronger.” He looked down at his hands, tightening them into fists. “I want to master my hollow power, I want to fight that blue haired asshole and  _ win _ .” If he couldn’t even beat the sexta when he was missing an arm, then what the fuck was he?

 

“I can help you do that.”

 

“Why?” Ichigo demanded.

 

Aizen’s grip on his shoulder never tightened, but he was so acutely aware of its weight as he answered, “Because it costs me nothing, and it benefits me that you have the strength to make your own choices.”

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure he was expecting honesty, but he couldn’t think of a single other reason. He felt selfish, but Aizen  _ was right _ , everyone in this fucking place kept being right. It only took a few minutes of conversation to convince him to stay. How pathetic was his resolve?

 

**_“Use em up, King. Take them for all their worth.”_ **

 

_ ‘I lost.’ _

 

**_“Yer alive. Take what you want from em’.”_ **

 

Aizen lifted his hand from his shoulder, and it was about as comfortable as gargling rocks to thank him. “Thanks.”

 

“My pleasure, Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo gave him a sideways look and made to get up. Aizen didn’t stop him, so he stood and replaced his sword on his back, watching Aizen warily. Aizen said, “Gin will show you to your room. Accommodations have been made.”

 

Ichigo hesitated, brows furrowed. “ _ My _ room?”

 

Aizen’s lips stretched into a smile and he stood, and even if he wasn’t that much taller, it still felt like the man towered over him. He practically purred, “Yes, Ichigo, you are a guest in Las Noches.” 

 

Liar. The moment Aizen heard what he wanted to hear, his tune changed. Ichigo was under no impression this place was safe or accommodating. He chose not to say anything, his instincts screaming at him when he turned his back on the shinigami.

 

He left, surprisingly steady on his feet, and feeling remarkably good. Clearly the man was just good at everything, which was just  _ great _ . 

 

Ichigo left the room and found Gin waiting just outside the door. The shinigami didn’t ask what was said, maybe he already knew, or he didn’t care.

 

Ichigo asked, “What are  _ you _ doing here? What do you get out of this?”

 

Gin started to walk away and Ichigo followed just beside him, the man grinning at the question. “Maybe I find Aizen -sama charming?”

 

It wasn't surprising to Ichigo that he didn't get a real answer. He asked, “Where's Grimmjow?”

 

“Elsewhere,” Gin answered. “He doesn't need to guard you anymore.”

 

“I don't need an “escort”?” Ichigo asked. 

 

“Didn't say that. Grimmjow isn't the best choice anymore.”

 

Ichigo frowned, feeling like he was missing a huge chunk of the picture. It was his life, his nose was in the mud and he was lacking the perspective to see what in the hell Gin could mean by that. 

 

His hollow gave him a surprisingly helpful answer. **_“Death is a good motivator.”_ **

 

His hollow was right. Grimmjow had come close to killing him each time they fought, and each time he got a little better. It seemed like that was what Aizen wanted; the shinigami was so certain Ichigo would end up on his side. 

 

_ 'So, they're done trying to kill me?’  _ Ichigo didn't believe that even when he 'said’ it. 

 

“ **_Or they're stepping up their game. Careful, King. Show them you bite before they take a bite out of you.”_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Aizen, he’s such an asshole. Who can guess who his new babysitter is gonna be?
> 
> Also, I’ve been drawing Bleach fanart trash. If you wanna see those shenanigans check my Twitter, and my tumblr for that lewd stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> Rankings
> 
> Aizen Sousuke
> 
> Kaname Tōsen & Gin Ichimaru
> 
>  
> 
> Espada
> 
> 0:  Yammy Llargo
> 
> 1:  Coyote Starrk & Lilynette Gingerbuck
> 
> 2:  Baraggan Louisenbairn
> 
> 3:  Tier Harribel (former: Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck)
> 
> 4:  Ulquiorra Cifer
> 
> 5:  Nnoitra Gilga
> 
> 6:  Luppi Antenor (former: Grimmjow)
> 
> 7:  Zommari Rureaux
> 
> 8:  Szayelaporro Granz
> 
> 9:  Aaroniero Arruruerie


End file.
